The Case of the Hired Valkyries
by Spiffswishy
Summary: Sherlock Holmes believes he has solved his latest case, only to find out it is only part of a bigger plot involving his greatest enemy, Moriarty. But a new mystery rolls in with the arrival of John's distant cousin, a girl names Jaime who stems from America. Could she unwillingly hold the secret to Moriarty's plot? Will Sherlock be able to solve this case without making sacrifices?
1. Chapter 1

_**The Case of the Hired Valkyries**_

**Chapter 1**

**Jaime**

My name is Jaime, pronounced _HI-Me_ by my Spanish mother, pronounced _Jame-Y_ by everyone else who speaks English. Not exactly a girl's name but my birth certificate didn't seem to care.

Perhaps that's why I went by James. Of course I didn't look Spanish, I had the porcelain white skin and long brown hair of my sonofabitch father who left after I was born. What can I say? Some people just aren't meant for responsibility.

Take my mother for example. She gets landed with one kid who she shuffles off to her parents as she enters into a lifetime contract with alcohol and _drogas_. It wasn't a surprise that an overdose killed her, she just had bad timing.

Two weeks into my senior year of high school, three months before I turn eighteen and she has to go and kill herself. Wouldn't have been a problem except for the will she left. I hate the will. It was the reason I was on a plane for London, with all of my possessions crammed into a carry on, instead of at karate class with my hot, twenty-something year old sensei. Just saying, where do you think I wanted to be at this moment?

Law stated I had to pick up and leave our ranch on the border between _Texas_ and _México_ for a shabby apartment in London, rented by my second cousin or something. I had never heard of him before but I had heard of his sister. Harriet and _mi madre_ had been drinking buddies before my mother had moved to the states with my father. Geez, and kids in my high school wondered why I stayed away from booze. It was practically implanted in my blood.

"Unaccompanied minor?" The guy across the aisle asked me in perfect English. At one glance I could tell he was my age, probably heading to England for a _fútbol_ tournament of some sort judging by Spain's flag's colors on his jersey and the soccer ball by his feet. Oh yes, and I could tell he was hoping to swipe my V-card in the bathroom on the plane before we landed.

I didn't bother responding, instead shoving my headphones into my ears. Maybe some angsty music would make me feel better, or at least drown out the rest of the world.

**John**

Sherlock yanked the plug of John's headphones from the laptop. YouTube paused automatically.

"What the bloody hell was that for?" John asked, shaken. He had almost forgotten Sherlock was in the room, which even on a good day was very hard to do.

"That music was too loud John. I couldn't think." John didn't bother to point out that he had been listening to it with headphones. Sherlock could ignore him for hours at end, yet even the presence of pop music could throw him overboard. "Why were you listening to-"Sherlock looked over at the screen, "Goo Goo Dolls?"

John sat up straighter, surprised Sherlock was even asking the question being the great detective he was. "Facebook says it's my cousin's favorite band so-"

Sherlock picked up his violin and drew the bow across the strings, replicating the sound of a cat being pushed into an operating blender.

"Sherlock look-"John began, only to be drowned out by yet another painful screech.

"Sherlock!" Another howl. John, unable to deal with the noise stood up and wrenched the violin from Sherlock's grasp.

The greatest mind in London frowned. "John do be careful with my violin. It's an antique."

John fumed inside, putting down the violin carefully nonetheless. "Look Sherlock we're going to have to talk about it eventually. My cousin needs somewhere to stay."

"She is not staying in my flat." Sherlock said, a little peeved.

"_Your_ flat!?" John exclaimed. "I pay half the rent on this flat!"

"Exactly. This is still _my_ flat and you are simply _my _flat mate."

"Sherlock you are being ridiculous. Her mother just died."

"Mothers die every day John! Really you must learn how to separate yourself from a situation which hardly involves you."

John looked down at his best friend who, at the moment, he wanted to punch in the face. Today wasn't different from most days in reality. John grabbed his keys and his jacket.

"I'm going out."

Sherlock watched him descend the stairs and sat still until he heard the door slam below. Then, with the grace of a jack rabbit, he darted across the room for John's laptop. He was in the middle of a case, one he hadn't even shared with John yet.

He Google-searched "Valkyries" and a smile lit up his face. Perhaps this case wouldn't take as much time as he thought. Ah yes, the game was afoot and not even John's cousin could mess it up.

**XX: Thank-you for reading! Hope you enjoy! Chapters will be kept relatively short so I can put up more of them more frequently! Please comment with any advice/praise/criticism! **


	2. Chapter 2

_**The Case of the Hired Valkyries**_

**Chapter 2**

**Sherlock**

John still wasn't home when Sherlock hung up on Detective Inspector Lestrade. He had busted the Valkyrie den and called to tell Sherlock to say a few girls had escaped and might be gunning for him.

"The case turned out to be quite simple," Sherlock said to John, who as usual wasn't even on the premises. "The missing girls weren't kidnapped. They were forced into a cult who called themselves the valkyries. They took any girl with skill or stealth. Even trained assassins need a fresh crop every couple of years." The girls were also boozers and drug addicts. Lestrade had described to him the den, which smelled of blood and beer. It wasn't uncommon for those who had seen so much death to turn to the bottle. Nevertheless Sherlock had always preferred his 7% solution. But those days were behind him now…

Sherlock stepped over the body that was lying unconscious on his floor. No, John wasn't going to like the body there. Hopefully Lestrade had always received his text and would arrive before his flat mate did. Sherlock sipped his tea in the kitchen, ignoring the burn on his tongue. Fighting off the Valkyrie hadn't been easy, but at least she hadn't been armed. He now had John's revolver in his left hand, though John's cane had knocked her out well enough.

Sherlock gazed around the flat. He certainly hoped John would come home soon though. It was time to booby trap the apartment.

**Jaime**

The line for customs was ridiculous. I waited for over an hour next to a group of whining girl scouts only to have some Brit stamp my passport and hurry me along. Luckily all I owned remained in the bag on my shoulder so I didn't need to retrieve any luggage. Still I was jet lagged and cranky. My eyes burned from staring at the television on the plane and my mouth tasted strange. Before calling for a taxi, I brushed my teeth in one of the airport bathrooms, ignoring the stare I got from some businesswoman, and I splashed some cold water under my eyes. It wasn't much but hopefully it would keep me awake the rest of the day.

"Where to, Miss?" The cab driver asked as I climbed in the black car, the opposite from the yellow taxis I'd seen on TV busting about New York. Mustard-colored handles stuck out from the inside walls of the cab. Stickers and advertisements covered the ceiling and the edge of the seats.

"Hold on one sec, I have the address here somewhere." I reached into my pack and pulled out the small notebook I had written my cousin's instructions in. "221 B. Baker Street? I guess it's in London."

The driver looked back at me in the mirror as we pulled away from the curb.

"That's the address of Sherlock Holmes." The cabbie had one eye raised, like he was considering whether or not I would die if he just threw me out of his cab while it was moving.

"I-I thought it was John Watson's address." I said quickly, willing panic not to set in. "I've never heard of this Sherlock guy. I'm just looking for John, I'm his cousin."

"Oh you're talkin' bout Mr. Watson! Well why didn't you say so?" The cabbie laughed, the harsh look on his face vanishing into a grin. "Mr. Watson's a good man, always pays me extra when Sherlock takes the cab without payin' me. Don't know how he puts up with that know-it-all arse." The cabbie talked in an Irish accent and I laughed to myself. Guess I hadn't met a true-blue Brit yet.

"You say you're Watson's cousin?"

I snapped back to reality. "Yeah, second cousin or something. I'm moving in for a year. It's my first time across the pond."

"Well doesn't seem right to take you to Baker street without showing you 'round London first! What would you say to a quick tour? I wouldn't charge you extra, on account of you bein' related to John and all."

As Heathrow disappeared in the rearview mirror, I couldn't help but feel more at ease. The Beatles came on the radio and I found myself humming along, a rare smile across my face. I was in London, England.

"A quick tour wouldn't hurt."

**XX: Thanks for reading! Please comment with any advice/praise/criticism!**


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